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The mind is closing down.
Just look at the weight
I've thrown on it.
No more tomorrow,
tomorrow comes again.
I'm not just a stench
with bile for words.
I'm not an unexplained stain,
hand me down,
forgotten..
I'm justified in existing
if you are.
A flimsy excuse
for a ridiculous curve.
I have not being before me
and being against me.
Just give me a moment between
the turn of a doorknob
and the ring of a telephone
to collect myself
and see again,
breath again,
With my own lungs,
My own eyes.
And maybe in there
between the valves of the heart
and the cheap salves of the soul,
I'll walk away clean
with some kind words
and well meant intentions.
My gift to you,
My gift to myself.
We'll save the interest
bought on ugliness till last,
and take healing
to the bank.
I've had enough of suffering
just now...
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